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I glared at him, my hands balling into fists at my side. “I am not a tool to be used at whim by others!”
“Yes, that is precisely the problem,” he agreed, but even as he said it, there was a hungry look in his eyes.
“It rankles, doesn’t it?” I poured every ounce of disdain and superiority I could into the words. “We both started out with a special skill, but I was able to learn yours and you could never learn mine. It must gall you to know you aren’t the strongest person in this room.”
Grey scoffed, but something unpleasant flashed in his eyes. Even so, he didn’t step closer.
“Smart, strong, and beautiful,” he said softly. “Are there any limits to what we could have achieved together? I think not. But you won’t find me an easy target now. No matter how much you goad my pride, I’m too wily to offer you a contest.” He flicked his arm, briefly exposing a flash of skin along his wrist while he watched me with a knowing smile.
My lips tightened, flattening into a thin line. I had walked straight into their trap, and now there was no easy way out. Everything had depended on Miro waking up from his enthrallment and turning on Grey in betrayed wrath.
Fear clawed at my throat, making it hard to breathe. But I couldn’t give in to it now. If I was going to survive, I had to keep all my wits about me.
“An impasse, then?” I asked calmly, proud of my voice for not shaking.
“Oh, I hardly think that.” Grey inclined his head toward the open door and two guards stepped into the room, determined looks on their faces.
Miro might not be mesmerized, but I would have been willing to bet these two were from the fanatical gleam in their eyes.
“You’re really all right with this?” I asked Miro, desperation making my voice harsh. “You have no problem with Grey mesmerizing your people, as long as you get to sit on a pretty throne?” I glanced derisively at the elaborate seat.
“And why wouldn’t I be?” he asked. “Marius’s line is unworthy of the Tartoran throne—the Triumvirate themselves gave that ruling.”
The slightest twitch of movement in one of the floor length curtains caught my attention. I kept my gaze on Miro, my heart somehow beating even harder as a terrible possibility occurred to me.
He was still talking, although I was barely listening.
“The Triumvirate’s problem is that they’re cowards!” he declared, working himself into a rant. “They recognized the problem, but they’re too weak to look further afield than a cousin. I will never be given the recognition I deserve in Tartora, so why shouldn’t I take something they don’t even value and make it great? Who in the rest of the kingdom even values the east?”
The two guards nodded, as if they found this slightly unhinged spiel inspiring.
I flinched, the desire to look toward the curtain almost mastering me.
“I don’t know how you escaped Ignatius,” Grey murmured. “But I should warn you that I’m much more thorough than my cousin.”
“Ignatius is dead,” I said baldly. “Along with your entire family. The island is free of the lot of you now. Only the Constantines who actually cared are left.”
Something flashed in his eyes, some glimmer of distant surprise and grief, but he shrugged it off quickly. “So poor, outcast Costas is on his own, is he?”
“Far from it,” I said. “His mother is with him.”
“Aunt Isolde?” Grey stared at me, his face blank for a moment before he shrugged and smiled again.
“The island is no longer my concern. I have a larger prize in mind now.”
The guards behind him drew their swords, distracting me from Grey’s face.
“Don’t worry,” he continued. “They’ve been trained how to deal with healers. It really hasn’t been a pleasure, Delphine.”
With one final mocking smile, he disappeared out the door, leaving a clear path for his guards to reach me. I backed up, putting myself closer to Miro, but he called out in a panicked voice and several more guards ran into the room, rushing to form a protective ring around him. His assistant had also woken and stood to join the guards, shaking his head as if to clear his groggy thoughts.
As Grey’s guards advanced toward me, I pulled out the knife at my belt. It wouldn’t do much good against their longer blades, but I wanted to go down fighting, at least. The feel of the hilt in my hand recalled the memory of when Nik gave the knife to me. I should have kissed him then. I wished I had. I wished I hadn’t let any of our moments together slip away.
The curtains on the side of the room swung dramatically aside, and Nik lunged into the room as if pulled out by my thoughts. I dropped instinctively to the ground, curling into a ball as he leaped straight over me to meet the blades of my attackers with his own.
Miro gave a startled cry, and the guards surrounding him rushed forward to support the two now facing Nik. But Nik fought with a ferocity I’d never seen, his blade moving too fast to follow. Even so, his skill alone wouldn’t have been enough against so many opponents. But Nik had more ways to fight than with a sword.
The chairs from the two rows shuddered into movement, their wood creaking as it responded to the pull of Nik’s power. They rose into the air before flying across the room in every direction, exploding spectacularly into spears of wood as they collided with walls and people.
